The Golden Age of Albion
by CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: Sequel. Oneshots and short stories that take place after the events of "The Love That Binds Us." Old friends and new adventures await Merlin and Mordred in their future. After all, Camelot will never be without its dangers, but love and friendship will surely be enough to always conquer the day.
1. Wedding Night

_Author's note: Welcome to the sequel for "The Love That Binds Us." I'll be posting mostly oneshots and the occasional multi-chapter episode-style short story. They won't necessarily be posted in chronological order, since I'll generally just be writing whenever inspiration hits me, so I'll always tell you at the beginning of the chapter how long it has been since the end of "The Love That Binds Us." Easy enough? Great! Then enjoy!_

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><p><em>That night:<em>

"I can't believe I agreed to be the bride," grumbled Merlin, entirely good-naturedly. He reached his arms around Mordred to undo the clasp of his deep blue cape. As it had always done, since the day of his knighting, Mordred's heart beat a little faster.

"It seemed fitting," Mordred answered. The knight turned to help Merlin off with his jacket in return. "Besides, you were a _beautiful_ blushing bride."

Merlin snorted, but shook his head. "Nah," he said softly, "I couldn't hold a candle to you."

Mordred's fingers paused, lingering on a golden button as he grew warm and met Merlin's tender gaze. Consciously returning to his task, he looked down at Merlin's chest as his fingers delicately did their work. "You only say that to get me into your bed."

"Well, obviously!"

The warlock grinned as Mordred playfully shoved him.

"You can hardly blame me," he went on gaily. "When I stepped into that throne room, I thought for a moment that I'd stepped into a dream. You were, _are_, stunning, Mordred. More than you know."

Finally sliding his arms free of the jacket, a corner of his mouth pulled upwards. Stalking forward, he slowly walked Mordred backwards until the younger man's back came to rest against the bedpost.

"And I…" He planted a kiss beneath Mordred's ear. "…shall have you…" He sucked gently at Mordred's neck. "…tonight, and many more times in the future." Merlin straightened, slowly tilting his head so that their lips remained only an inch apart.

Mordred felt the breath on his lips, the heat, speeding his pulse and spreading from his lips, to his cheeks, his neck, chest, arms, hands. He swallowed dryly, licking his lips. Instinctively his head nudged towards the source of the tempting heat, but Merlin kept tantalizingly just out of reach.

"Merlin…" he breathed, straining further.

The older man smiled understandingly, but instead of granting him with the touch he desired, Merlin pulled far enough away that Mordred could no longer share his warmth. He pouted.

"I know, I know," said Merlin, placating his husband with hands raised. "But there's something I need to do first."

"What?"

"Here, hand me your ring."

Perplexed, Mordred nonetheless twisted the wedding band off of his finger and rested it gently in Merlin's waiting palm. Merlin brought his hand to his face, murmured a few quiet words of sorcery, and then, much to Mordred's bemusement, blew air over the silver object.

Smiling shyly, Merlin stepped to Mordred's side, holding up the ring for him to see. Amazed, Mordred grabbed it back, staring at the words now engraved on the outside. He read them as Merlin spoke.

"It says, 'From the dawn of a new era to the twilight of our days, I will walk with you through all the steps of life' in the Old Tongue."

Listening in silence, Mordred placed the ring back on his finger, now wearing a promise he knew he would cherish always.

"You have given me the greatest privilege of my life," Merlin continued, "and I will honor it, and you, the best I can, forever."

Still staring in teary-eyed wonder at Merlin's handiwork, Mordred felt lithe fingers weave through his own. He squeezed tightly.

There were no more words shared—nor any that needed to be—as they instead shared their love another way, ushering in the newest stage of their lives with all the passion they knew would define it.


	2. Ambassadors to the Druids

_Author's Note: You know what's great about this sequel? I can post whenever I want to, without feeling like a chapter needs to be at least a certain length and include all relevant scenes. So here's the first part of a sort-of story! Not really, just a little bit. Many many thanks to everyone who has followed me here from The Love That Binds Us. It's great to have you. Remember, the time given at the beginning of each chapter will indicate how long it has been since the wedding. Enjoy!_

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><p><em>One week later:<em>

So far Merlin and Mordred had served Arthur astoundingly well as ambassadors to the druid people. Using Mordred's knowledge from his childhood, and their combined magical and telepathic abilities, they had successfully located two clans of druids in only one week's time.

Both groups were initially wary as two strangers rode into their camp, but it took little time for them to recognize Emrys and to realize that Mordred was one of their own. For all, this was a shock. To see a druid decked out in the garb of a Camelot knight sparked cautious flickers of hope in the weary druids. Hearing from Merlin of the King's legalization of magic fanned that flicker into a flame.

On both occasions, Merlin and Mordred sat up late and spoke with the leader of the clan, explaining Arthur's desire for reconciliation.

The first chief, Rowyl, agreed almost immediately to come to Camelot when they should call for him, his eyes speaking of great trust in the legendary Emrys. Merlin was moved by the faith the druid people had in him, but he also felt a pang that he had failed them for so long. Whenever Mordred sensed his husband's distress, it was shown in a gentle squeeze of the hand or light touch on the back.

The second chief, Antheas, was more hesitant. But after many hours of debate and discussion, the sorcerers gained her approval. Antheas agreed that if her fellow druid Rowyl could meet with the Pendragon king, so could she. Smiles shining, Merlin and Mordred shook hands with her and promised to send word soon.

The next morning, Merlin and Mordred set off back to the palace. There they shared the news with Arthur of their current success.

"Excellent!" Arthur replied, throwing up his hands and clapping them together. "Shall we invite them now, then?"

Merlin glanced at Mordred. The druid nodded. They'd discussed this.

"Not yet, my lord," said Merlin. "There's one chieftain we have yet to locate. He could very well be the deciding factor for how the majority of the druid clans choose to deal with you. We think it best you wait until we've found him. _Then_ we'll summon the other chiefs."

"And what is the name of such an important druid?"

"You've met before. His name is Iseldir."

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><p>"Will you be okay?" Merlin asked quietly as they lay in bed together, his eyes piercing into the side of Mordred's head. The sheets ruffled as Mordred turned to face the other man. He put on a smile that would have been convincing to anyone who knew him less well.<p>

"Of course."

"No, I mean it, really," insisted Merlin. "There's no shame in, you know, staying behind for this one."

Mordred sighed. He smiled gratefully and placed a gentle hand on Merlin's cheek. "Yes, there would be," he disagreed. "I must come. But thank you for looking out for me."

"I'm sure he'll forgive you, Mordred." The knight shot him an annoyed look and took back his hand, glancing away. "Forgiveness _is_ the druid way, after all."

"Yes, but…" Mordred shook his head against the memories. "After my… betrayal-"

"You didn't betray him. You were only a boy."

"It does not matter."

"It _does_."

"You think he will not care that I forsook the druid way after Aglain's death, that I aligned myself with Alvarr," growled Mordred, "simply because I was a boy? In that dark time, Iseldir came to me and offered me a new home, a family, and I repudiated him. Instead I sought the company of violent men. And then I went on to commit murder, and become a trader of slaves."

"But look at you _now_, look at all you've-"

"No. After all he did for me as a child, and the way I repaid him… He will reject me, and I shall deserve it." Mordred turned over so that his back was to Merlin. His voice grew muffled in the air. "But it is my duty to speak with him as Arthur's ambassador, and I will do so. I will not be a coward, Merlin. I want to be better than that."

The warlock's chest ached, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms tightly around Mordred to show his love and support. So he did. He pressed himself as close to Mordred's back as he could, holding the young man firmly round the middle.

Mordred didn't say a word, but he placed his arm atop Merlin's and clenched Merlin's hand with great strength. The lovers were silent the rest of the night, merely holding onto each other.


	3. Nighttime Intruder

_Author's Note: I haven't yet finished the second part to the short story begun in the last chapter. So here! Have a tiny bit of fluff while you wait. Just a bit of fun really. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Remember, the time given is how much time has passed since the wedding._

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><p><em>One year later:<em>

Merlin wouldn't have even been in his old room had Mordred not been sick. For the past two nights Merlin had tended to Mordred and set him up comfortably in their shared living quarters, before leaving him to spend the night with Gaius. Merlin would have preferred to stay by Mordred's side, but as it was only a minor illness Mordred had insisted he sleep elsewhere to avoid catching it. So it was that the warlock was in his old room, in his old bed, on this particular night.

Merlin half-woke—what time was it?—when his door creaked open in the middle of the night. All was dark.

"Gaius?" he mumbled in his groggy state.

"Scoot over," demanded an equally tired voice.

Grumbling his annoyance, but not arguing with the strange order, Merlin shifted to one side of the bed. Arthur dropped down like a lump onto the other. The bed was so small that the two men had to squirm, trying to find a way to lie together comfortably. As they soon found, it wasn't possible.

(Except in one position, as the warlock was well aware. But when Merlin began to suggest, "Put your arm over-"

"No," was the immediate and final answer.)

After a minute of awkward pulling and shoving and smacking, Arthur growled, "Go put your head at the other end."

"This is _my bed_!" cried the outraged manservant. "Why don't _you_ put your head down there?"

"I'm the King, Merlin, don't be stupid."

Muttering about useless royal prats, Merlin stood up and flopped himself down the opposite way.

"I miss my pillow," he grumbled petulantly.

"Boo hoo."

Yanking the blanket to cover himself, Arthur almost completely divested Merlin of its protection and warmth. Disgruntled, the manservant yanked back, bunching the fabric in his hand and clutching it close to his chest. "And _why_ are you in my bed?" he muttered into the darkness.

"The twins," Arthur groaned in response. "They're restless tonight. They won't give me a moment's peace to sleep. And I've got that meeting with King Odin tomorrow; I have to be well rested."

"Nrrghh."

"Believe me, I agree. Now shut up and let me sleep."


	4. Queen Mithian

_Author's Note: One-I realize it has been forever. I am so, so sorry. I've been so caught up in a Sherlock story that I'm writing, and this one just... slipped my mind. Anyways. Two-I realize that things progress quite quickly in this chapter, but I really just wanted you all (those of you still hanging in there with me) to know my headcanon for these two characters :) Lots of love to you guys._

_Please review if you like it! Please review if you don't!_

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><p><em>Five years later:<em>

It was a sad occasion that drew them to Nemeth. Mithian's father, King Rodor, had passed away of old age. Many of Camelot's court traveled to Nemeth for Princess Mithian's coronation. Among those who went were Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Sir Mordred, Sir Leon, and Sir Percival. They bore witness to the new Queen's coronation ceremony, and then stayed on as guests for a week's time.

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><p>"Do you play chess, Arthur Pendragon?" asked Queen Mithian suddenly, grinning wolfishly at him. It was the night after her official ascension to the throne, and the people of Nemeth and Camelot dined together at a grand banquet. "I do love to find new opponents."<p>

Arthur laughed. "I'm afraid not. No, it is Sir _Leon_ who is the reigning champion of chess in Camelot."

Hearing his name, Leon turned from his conversation with Mordred, ears perked. "Did you call for me, sire?" he asked Arthur politely.

"No, no. I was just telling Mithian of your renown on the battlefield of chess."

"Does Her Majesty play the game?" asked Leon, now addressing Mithian.

"I do indeed," she confirmed. "My father used to play it with me, until I became good enough to school him each time he tried." Her audience laughed appreciatively. "I would be glad of the new competition. Would you be interested in a round?"

"Just don't start any wars," Arthur warned jokingly. "I won't have you ruining the peace between our kingdoms over a game of chess."

Leon grinned at his king, nodding his acceptance. To Mithian he said, "I am happy to oblige you, Your Majesty."

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><p>"You asked to see me, Your Majesty?" announced Leon, entering the room calmly. He didn't know the reason for this summons, but he was an easygoing man, very willing simply to see what the queen had in store for him, confident that all would be explained shortly. Perhaps she fancied another game of chess.<p>

Mithian turned towards the doorway with an inviting smile. "Yes, Sir Leon. Thank you. Please come in."

Shutting the door, Leon obliged, joining her by the table. He looked curiously at the parchments and maps spread out there.

"As you can see," she said, "I am examining trade routes in and out of Nemeth. I have a few questions of a military nature that I felt best answered by someone within Camelot. I didn't wish to disturb Arthur, but as his second-in-command, I knew you would be able to help me just as well. Your training and experience rival even your king's, if not surpass them entirely."

The knight smiled at the praise, giving his humble thanks, which she brushed away.

"I am happy to assist you in any way I can," he assured.

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><p>After spending ten minutes riding alongside the King and Queen of Camelot, Mithian bid them a farewell and let her horse slow its pace until she rode beside the next person in the procession.<p>

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," Leon greeted her.

"Good afternoon, Sir Leon," she returned sweetly. "If you don't mind, I think I'll ride with you for a time. There is only so long a woman wishes to interfere in the romantic outing of her two friends."

Leon laughed, watching as Arthur and Gwen exchanged yet another love-filled look. "I understand perfectly."

"So," said Mithian. She turned a grin towards the knight. "Are you as good a shot as you are chess-player?"

"I like to think so," he answered. "It's certainly a favorite pastime. Hunting, that is."

"Well, you had better prepare yourself, for _today_ you've got some competition!" she teased. "I shan't let you get away with underperforming."

"Yes, I remember your skill with a bow, Your Majesty," he complimented. "Very impressive. Camelot would be lucky to have more knights as skilled."

"Please." She fixed him with a kind stare. "You may call me Mithian."

"I'm not sure that-"

"Believe me, I do not need the constant reminder that my father is dead."

Leon fell quiet, the complaint of decorum fading away. Somehow he'd forgotten exactly what she'd lost. It must have been due to the confident smile she now turned to him, the same gentle, strong smile she'd been wearing all weekend.

"It will take me some time to adjust to the new title, I'm sure," she continued. "At present, it doesn't feel like it fits me. It would be nice to have at least _one_ person who felt enough at ease in my company to call me by the name my mother and father gave me."

"I am happy to do as you ask, Mithian," was Leon's answer. The queen flashed him a grateful smile, a hint of vulnerability appearing and disappearing in a second. He returned the gesture, nodding his head respectfully to show that he understood and supported her.

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><p>Arthur looked up from his book when a knock came at the door to his guest quarters.<p>

"Come in," he called, turning his eyes back to the page. He heard the door open and close behind someone, but he didn't turn his gaze upward again until he'd finished the paragraph.

He was surprised to see his oldest friend and second-in-command standing before him, looking more nervous than Arthur could ever recall.

Arthur rose from the bed quickly, worry in his brow. "Is something wrong, Leon?" he asked steadily. The king was shocked to see a hint of color rise in his knight's cheeks. When had Leon _ever_ gotten red in the cheeks without being drunk? Leon shook his head.

"No, my lord. Not… quite," he stammered. "I wouldn't say that."

"My goodness," exclaimed Arthur, utterly bewildered, "tell me what's the matter." He subconsciously stepped closer to his friend.

"I would ask you, sire, for… That is, I wish to tell you…"

Leon sighed, his muscles relaxing as he forced an embarrassed grin and ran a hand through his hair. "I apologize, Arthur. I suppose I'm just nervous. I don't know what you'll think of what I have to tell, and you know that the last thing I ever want is to disappoint you."

"You have _never_ disappointed me, Leon," declared Arthur. "There is no need to be nervous. You can tell me anything."

Leon nodded, his eyes locked on Arthur's. The room was quiet for a moment, as Arthur waited patiently for the older man to collect his thoughts.

Finally, Leon said, "When you return to Camelot, sire… I fear I will not be returning with you." Fear flashed in his eyes, fear of giving Arthur reason to be disappointed in him for the first time. There was also a hint of sadness, for he knew he would miss his home and king.

Arthur stared dumbly. "You're staying in Nemeth?" he managed to say. Leon nodded. "But…"

The king was at a loss for words, struck to the core with the knowledge that he would soon be abandoned by one of his best men and best friends. He swallowed that sadness down. "May I ask for the reason? You wouldn't stay behind for anything trivial. You love Camelot just as I do."

"Yes, I do, sire," whispered Leon, his voice breaking, pain washing over his light eyes. Then they filled with resolve. "But there is something else I love even more."

Expression smoothing out, Arthur gave an, "Ah."

"It's a woman," he stated, raising his eyebrows for confirmation. Leon nodded once more. "Well!" Arthur exclaimed jovially, drawing a smile from the other man also. "This is wonderful news! What is the name of the lucky maiden who has won the heart of such a worthy knight? Can you not bring her back to Camelot?"

Arthur had the feeling he'd failed to entirely mask the pleading in his voice as a light-hearted remark.

The king was surprised to see Leon shuffle his feet nervously, looking anywhere but at him. "Leon?" he pressed. Leon took a deep breath and forced himself to make steady eye contact with his friend.

"Queen Mithian has proposed to me," he explained finally, watching as Arthur's eyes and mouth widened in shock. "She has asked me to rule at her side, and I accepted. I did not… wish you to be angry, my lord. I do not pretend that I shall ever be the king that you are, and I do not mean to challenge you by assuming this title. I assure you, in truth _she_ will be the people's ruler, and I simply at her side, commanding her knights as I have commanded yours. I… I truly love her, Arthur."

Arthur said nothing, still staring in blatant shock. Leon took awkward steps towards him, anxiety spelled out in every tense line of his body. "Please," he said. "I don't wish you to feel I'm betraying you. I would never- I never meant to-"

"_Leon_," interrupted Arthur loudly. A bright smile burst forth on his face, startling the older man into disbelieving silence and stillness: could he truly be so lucky? Arthur clapped a hand on Leon's shoulder. "How could you think such a thing? I could be no happier for you. I simply had no idea." He shook his head, still coming to terms with the news. "I'm glad that you've found love. And you will make an _excellent_ king. You are already a wonderful leader; I know that well enough. Mithian couldn't have made a better choice. I know you will both be very happy."

Leon beamed, his posture practically melting in the relief that spilled forth from every pore. "Thank you, sire. You are a great king and a great man. You are being… _very_ understanding."

"You should have known I wouldn't be angry," said Arthur quietly, but kindly. Leon stared at the floor sheepishly. "I suppose it's… true that I'll miss you. You were a great asset to not only Camelot, but to the knights, and to myself. The role you played in building our kingdom cannot be overstated, and I cannot express the depth of my gratitude. Camelot will certainly feel your loss. But that is Nemeth's gain. And besides! To have such a bond between two kings will serve the alliance between our kingdoms well, don't you think?"

"Indeed, my lord," Leon agreed.

"Then don't tarry here, Sir Knight!" Arthur exclaimed. "You must return to your lady at once. And truly, tell Mithian that I am overjoyed for you both."

"I shall," Leon assured, grinning. "Thank you, Arthur."

The two men shared a casual embrace, and then, with a giddy smile, Leon practically jogged out the door, eager to return to Mithian's side. Arthur shook his head fondly, happy for his friend, yet sad.

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><p>"Seriously? You didn't notice all the time they've been spending together?" Merlin jibed. Arthur made a face at his back as his manservant folded his clothes and tucked them in their proper places. "Now I remember why I deemed you a dollophead."<p>

"Merlin, you call me such things because your vocabulary is comprised of ridiculous, made-up words, like a child's."

"What about 'ass'?" Merlin retorted. "Is that one made up? Because it suits you just as well."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Though, my personal favorite will always be 'clotpole,'" the manservant mused. "There's something about it that just rings so true when I look at you…"

"All right, that's enough," Arthur told him.

"You know, Mordred once referred to you as the Sunshine King because of your, as he put it, 'majestic glowing locks,'" Merlin confided mockingly. "Perhaps I ought to start calling you _that _instead. I wouldn't want to land myself in trouble for not properly addressing royalty."

"Trouble is exactly where you're headed, I guarantee it." Arthur smirked with the victory of a trump card. "I think a day in the stocks sounds about right, don't you?"

Merlin gaped at him. "You're joking. The _stocks_? Do you even under_stand_ how much of a waste of food that is? It's a totally barbaric form of punishment, besides."

"Yes, it just _screams_ of sadism."

"See?" Merlin said, pretending to take Arthur's sarcasm seriously. The King rolled his eyes at his absurd companion. "No more stocks then. The Sunshine King can't go getting a reputation as a cruel and heartless monster who tortures his servants for fun, even if it _is_ true."

"One day, Merlin, I will forget why I keep you around," he warned. "Then I hope you'll be able to find someone willing to feed strays off the streets."

"I hear the palace gives the dogs some decent scraps."

"Yes, but my dogs can actually _do_ things," Arthur pointed out. "What can you do other than ruin a good hunt and fall flat on your face?"

"I can juggle, remember?" Merlin replied.

At this, Arthur actually paused, remembering the occasion. With a grudging smile, he admitted, "All right, that's true."

Trying to smother a grin, Merlin told him, "Actually, it's not. I cheated."

There was a moment as Arthur merely stared at his best friend. The implication in those words was… It just couldn't be true…

But by that self-satisfied, cheeky smile, and those damn twinkling eyes it clearly was exactly what it sounded like.

"Do you mean to tell me that you used _magic_ in order to successfully _juggle_?" Arthur yelled, true outrage in his voice. "Why do you have to be such an _idiot_, Merlin!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" objected the insulted man.

"What if someone had caught on?" Arthur demanded irritatedly, shoving himself into Merlin's personal space. "There were _plenty_ of people in that banquet hall. Any one of them could have noticed you using your magic! Why would you take such a stupid risk?"

Merlin stared at him, slightly stunned at his ferocity. Then his expression relaxed, and he smiled tenderly at his emotionally stunted friend.

"It means a lot that you care," he said quietly.

Arthur swallowed. He nodded. "Yes, well… take better care of yourself, Merlin."

"Yes, sire."


	5. The Paradise Syndrome

_Author's Note: I've had this episode planned out for quite some time actually, so I hope it's enjoyable. There will be a second part coming, hopefully soon. Please review with your thoughts, you can't imagine how motivational the briefest review can be. Big thanks to CeltOmnia and KidauthorR5erforever for being amazing supporters._

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><p><em>One and a half months later:<em>

It was meant to be a short trip. Merlin was carrying news of Camelot's peace treaty with the druid people to a few of the outlying clans. He was scheduled to return home in a week's time. When he did not, Mordred worried. When nearly two weeks had passed, Mordred panicked. He did everything in his power to contact Merlin. Telepathy, messenger birds—nothing got results.

Mordred sent word to the druid clan that Merlin had planned to visit last on his journey. A reply came on the thirteenth day following Merlin's departure from the city. The parchment confirmed Mordred's deepest fears: Merlin had never reached the clan.

Mordred hastened to Arthur's bedchambers, forgoing all manners and barging inside, interrupting the King while he worked. He slammed the letter down on Arthur's desk, ignoring the King's look of outrage.

"It is as I feared," Mordred announced. "He never arrived. Something befell him on the road, sire, and I ask your permission to ride out and find him."

Arthur's expression had grown dark. "Not without me," he countered, jumping up from his chair.

Mordred gawped at the King as he hurriedly threw together a traveling sack. The knight opened his mouth to object—it was highly ill-advised, after all, for the King of Camelot to risk himself on such a venture—but closed his mouth before uttering the words. It would be completely pointless, as he well knew. Arthur would never sit still in the citadel knowing that horrors could be upon his best friend elsewhere. Besides, he would appreciate the company.

"Shall we take others?"

"No," Arthur replied shortly. "I need each and every knight here, in case anything should happen in my absence. We are… short on men these days."

Mordred nodded painfully, recalling the bloody battle at Camlann, where they had lost far too many of their knights.

"Do you have a heading?" Arthur asked, grabbing his scabbard and putting it about his waist.

"Yes, sire. I know the path he will have followed. I plan to retrace it, and hope that I will find some sign of his passing and be able to follow his tracks."

"Excellent. I assume you're packed?"

"Yes, sire."

"Then off we go."

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><p>The search had been progressing quite well, the two knights thought. Mordred led the way over rock and hill and through the trees. When they neared the druid camp, Mordred slowed their pace. Finally, after some delicate sweeping of the area, he announced with an excited cry that he could feel a touch of Merlin's magic lingering in the air. He followed this trail like a bloodhound with a scent, and Arthur could do nothing but trust him and tail behind.<p>

They traveled two days and two nights, becoming more anxious all the while as they wondered at the fate of their missing friend. Those fears were never acknowledged between them, but their presence weighed heavily nonetheless.

On the second night, Mordred refused to let them stop for rest.

"I cannot lose this trail," he declared firmly. His feet stepped carefully through the brush, mindful of the quiet that surrounded them. He used magic to sharpen his sight in the deepening twilight. "Even now it fades away in front of me. If we were to stop, I fear it would vanish entirely and we would... Merlin would…"

"Keep going," Arthur said. "I'm right behind you."

And so it was that Mordred was focused on the invisible trail of magic and Arthur was focused on Mordred when they were attacked. Both king and sorcerer were knocked unconscious before they even knew of their danger.

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><p>Mordred groaned as he came to some hours later, his skull seeming to pulse angrily inside his head. His eyes opened blearily, and he wasn't at all comforted by what he saw. The young man thrust himself up from the ground only to fall against the wall, his head protesting at the sudden movement. The pain blinded him momentarily, but he soon was blinking his eyes clear once more.<p>

They were in a cell underground, so much was obvious. The door was iron bars, the floor and walls were dirt. His eyes fixed on the King. Arthur was already awake, and looking back at him.

"We seem to have been ambushed," he remarked dryly, turning his eyes back to the bars of their cage.

"Yes, it would…" Mordred winced as his head was shot through with another bolt of lightning. "…appear that way. Have you seen anyone yet?"

"No. Our hosts seem quite happy to leave us on our own." He turned to Mordred expectantly. "So? Can we get out of here? We don't have time for this delay, Mordred."

"I'm well aware of that, sire," the knight replied. "But give me a moment, please." He rested his head against the pleasingly cool wall. A few minutes passed as he felt his strength and clarity return to him.

Just as he was readying himself to speak, the two men grew alert at noises coming from beyond their cell. They waited tensely, and soon were confronted with two large men emerging from the dark tunnel. They were both of impressive stature, tall and strong, their torsos bare but for elaborate tattoos, their legs thickly muscled. They carried swords at their waists and two torches in their hands.

"One of you will have audience with the Shaman," the first man announced. He and the second guard stood like stone pillars outside the bars of their cage, clearly waiting for them to choose between themselves.

Not knowing what else to do, Mordred and Arthur turned their heads together so that they could speak quietly and not have their lips read.

"I should go, obviously," the king said.

Mordred shook his head. "No, Arthur, reconsider. They may not know who we are. But their Shaman could very well recognize you." Arthur turned thoughtful. "I think it best we don't allow them to know they've got the King of Camelot in their dungeon. _I_ should go. Besides, I have some tricks up my sleeve. Should any trouble arise, I'll be the more capable of maneuvering my way out."

Arthur heaved a sigh, but he was no fool. "Very well. You make a fair case. Just… be careful."

"Have no fear." Mordred grinned. "I've become quite well versed in the language of diplomacy."

"Yes, I know," he agreed. "All right, Mordred." Under his breath he added, "Try to find the best way for us to break out of here. And, if possible, find our swords."

"Yes, sire."

With a nod and reassuring smile, Mordred turned about and strode to the bars. The guard asked no questions, only unlocked the door to let him out. As soon as he did so a rough stretch of rope was knotted around his wrists, binding him tightly. The guards locked the door behind him and led Mordred away.

* * *

><p>Mordred surveyed the inside of the Shaman's tent. It was large and finely decorated, the only entry was the flap through which Mordred had entered, and besides his two guards there were two others stationed in the tent. Mordred had seen other men, women, and children while being marched through the village to the Shaman's abode, but based on the size and number of tents, Mordred guessed the tribe was small, perhaps only sixty people. Their odds of successfully escaping were good, considering his magic and their combined battle skills.<p>

"One of the prisoners to see you, sinh'ath," announced a guard, the only one that Mordred had heard speak thus far.

Now Mordred turned his attention forward, taking note of the Shaman for the first time. The Shaman, dressed in tribal robes and headdress, stared down at Mordred from his carved wooden throne, blue eyes piercing into him.

It was as though all the air in his body had fled. Mordred stared, dumbstruck and speechless, for but a second.

Then the brightest smile spread across his cheeks, crinkling the edges of his eyes. "_Merlin_!" he exclaimed gleefully. He wrenched himself from the guards' hold and approached the warlock. He came close to tears in his gut-wrenching relief. "Merlin, I am grateful to see you! What is happening? Why are you here?" he babbled, the words tumbling forth with no heed to anything but the thrumming of his heart. "Arthur and I have come to-"

"_Quiet_," barked the guard, grabbing hold of Mordred's head and forcing him to his knees. Mordred winced, but the discomfort wasn't nearly enough to halt the smile still gracing his features. "You are here to answer the Shaman's questions. He is not here to answer _yours_."

"Shaman?" repeated Mordred. He looked up at Merlin with a twinkle in his eye. "How is it that you have become their Shaman? Why have you not come home? We were worried-"

"Do you know this man, sinh'ath?" inquired the man still gripping his head, now pulling painfully at his hair to quiet him.

Mordred looked up at Merlin expectantly, smiling in anticipation of the moment that Merlin welcomed him, embraced him, and then of course explained to him what the hell was going on. His stomach began to grow queasy when he realized that Merlin was staring down at him not with love but confusion.

"No…" Merlin answered, his brow scrunched together. He peered curiously down at the prisoner who reeled in shock. "He means nothing to me. He seems to have gone mad. Makto, why have he and the other man been put in the dungeon?"

"We found them trespassing on our land," explained the guard, Makto. "They bore weapons. An attack was their clear objective."

"We weren't-!"

"I see."

"_Merlin_."

* * *

><p>The Shaman looked down again at the prisoner. He was surprised to see great distress in the man's light blue eyes. Pity stirred in his stomach. "Why do you call me by that strange name?" he asked, slightly amused.<p>

The man looked as though someone had just ripped out his heart and crushed it right in front of him. "Do you… Do you truly not know me?" He searched the Shaman's eyes for some sign of recognition. "Merlin, don't you remember who you are, who _I_ am? It is I, Mordred. What's wrong? What has happened to you?"

For whatever reason, the man's words—though spoken in madness—fuelled a strong uneasiness within the Shaman, his insides twisting unpleasantly. He wished he could promise this man, Mordred, that everything would be all right.

But that was absurd. He owed the prisoner no favors just because he carried some delusion that he, the Shaman, was some _Merlin_ that the man clearly knew well.

And yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from that needy stare.

"Shall we prepare for the execution tomorrow morning?"

"_What_?" cried both Shaman and knight, their heads snapping upwards as one. The guard jolted.

Frantically, Mordred said, "No, Merlin, you cannot let them-"

Ignoring the bound prisoner in an attempt to ignore the internal ache, the Shaman turned his attention solely to Makto. "I've given no such order."

The guards looked at one another, confused. "Yes, but… that is the customary punishment for their offense. It has always been so."

The Shaman knew it to be true. He could look back into his memories, his many years among the Hintagi tribe, and see every time that this exact deed had been carried out. He remembered giving those orders, watching the perpetrators of the crime lose their heads. Yet something about it instinctively made him want to hurl. There was something so grotesque about such an act. How could he ever have condoned it, much less decreed it?

"No," he said firmly. "There will be no more executions." The guards' mouths flopped open and closed like dying fish. "For now they can be contained in the dungeon."

"But… but our law states-"

"And I am the Shaman," he interrupted powerfully, "final judge of the Hintagi people. And you will obey my orders."

"The Elders will be displeased," Makto pointed out.

The Shaman groaned, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I bet they will," he grumbled to himself. To Makto he proclaimed, "_I _will deal with the Elders. _You_ will do as I say. Take the prisoner back to the dungeon."

"What?" burst Mordred. He was grabbed by the shoulder and hauled to his feet. The two guards flanked him, forcefully spinning him around and marching him to the exit. "No, Merlin, _no_! You must remember! _Merlin_! _MERLIN_!" he screamed shrilly, becoming more desperate with each repetition of the name as he was dragged away. He struggled against the guards, looking back over his shoulder and making eye contact with the Shaman.

The Shaman shifted uncomfortably. Why did this man's eyes, now shedding heartbroken tears, affect him so deeply? Was it because this Mordred believed himself acquainted with the Shaman and was therefore pleading with him on an intimate level? That had to be it. Still, it was more than difficult to remain seated in his chair when all he wanted to do was bolt up, rush to Mordred, and take the man into his arms and keep him safe.

Swallowing, his fingers dug fiercely into the wooden armrests. He was determined to show nothing of his inner conflict. He watched with an almost-convincing stony countenance as Mordred, fighting all the way, was forced from the tent, screaming his name—no… a _false_ name—over and over.

When Mordred and the guards were gone, the Shaman allowed himself to slump in his throne, sucking air in with difficulty. He was stunned to feel the presence of tears trickling down his cheeks. When was the last time he'd cried? He wiped them away before his personal guards noticed. This certainly would not do.

* * *

><p>"<em>Merlin<em>?" Arthur exclaimed incredulously. "But what is he doing being their Shaman? How does that even _work_?"

"I do not believe he knows whathe is doing," divulged Mordred. "I imagine they have him under some form of spell. He doesn't appear to know who he is, much less who _I_ am."

"Are you dead certain?" Mordred glared at him, exhausted and hurting and not at all in the mood for this. "But…" said Arthur, looking for any other explanation, one that didn't involve his best friend being the brainwashed puppet of the Hintagi tribe, as they now knew was the name of their captors. Neither man had ever heard of the Hintagi people, but that meant nothing. "Perhaps he was putting on a show. Perhaps these people are more dangerous than they seem and he's playing along until he can aid us in our escape."

"I don't believe it was an act."

"Why not?"

"He was too sincere."

"Yes, well, Merlin's a good pretender," Arthur pointed out.

"But if he had been pretending, why would he not have told me so silently, inside my head?" replied Mordred. "No one would have been the wiser and there would be none of this confusion."

"…Oh." The king fell quiet, his last remaining hope sucked dry.


	6. The Paradise Syndrome 2

_Author's Note: So, clearly the episode doesn't end here, but this is the second part! Thanks so much to those who reviewed. A big bear hug to CeltOmnia for being a wonderful person :) You really cheer me up, darlin'._

* * *

><p>The Shaman pulled a pillow over his ears, for all the good it did him. It was well into the night, the village had gone to sleep, and yet the voice was still in his head. It had begun about an hour ago and had given him no peace since. It was the voice of that prisoner, Mordred. And he only said one word, incessantly.<p>

_Merlin._

It was _infuriating_. Enough to drive the Shaman as mad as the man himself! If only he knew how to shut it out. But he didn't. How had Mordred gotten inside his head in the _first_ place?

Growling his frustration, the Shaman flung back the blankets and wrapped a robe around himself. He stomped out of his tent angrily, his feet padding over the hard dirt ground as he made his way towards the dungeon. He jogged down the flight of steps and lit a ball of blue light without even thinking as he walked along the path that led directly to—

The two men leapt to their feet when he came to a stop just in front of the bars, fuming. Despite the ferocity of his expression, they both rushed closer to the door of the dungeon, their eyes drinking in the sight of him. This only annoyed the Shaman further.

"I spared your lives," he said harshly to Mordred. "Was that kindness not enough, that you are determined to drive me as mad as yourself?"

"What have you been _doing_?" murmured the other out of the corner of his mouth. Mordred ignored him.

"I apologize, Merlin, but I needed your attention," said Mordred.

"_Stop_ calling me by that _ridiculous_ name," he seethed.

"Oh, I'm _never_ going to let him live that down," the other man chimed in. The Shaman turned a glare his way even as Mordred whacked his arm. "Ah!" he cried. "That was not warranted!"

"This is _not_ the time for joking, Arthur," Mordred bit out.

The Shaman took a moment to examine the blond-haired man, Arthur. He was handsome enough, well built. There was something commanding about the way he held himself, regal even, as though he expected to be treated with courtesy and deference at all times. The Shaman smirked. It was almost endearing for him to look that way while locked in the Hintagi's underground dungeon.

He turned back to Mordred, seemingly the smarter of the two. "I don't know what you expect to gain out of this game you're playing," he said in a threatening tone, "but I warn you to give it up. You don't know what I'm capable of doing to you."

"If you were going to hurt us, you would have simply allowed us to be executed," replied Mordred. "Why didn't you?"

"Merlin loathes executions, you know that," answered Arthur frankly. He fell silent when Mordred turned a heavy glare on him again. He looked back at the Shaman, still awaiting a response.

_It felt wrong_, was the immediate answer in the Shaman's mind, but he couldn't say that. It would make him look weak, and he always had to appear strong for the sake of his people and their protection.

"Though you've clearly lost any ounce of sanity you may have once had," he said calmly, "I sensed your magic. I've _never_ felt another sorcerer with magic the likes of what you've got. Your powers almost rival mine." He smirked teasingly. He wasn't sure why he was so pleased when the other man amusedly smiled back. "It would be a shame to see all that power go to waste."

Mordred nodded slowly. "Very well," he replied. "But if you sensed my magic, did you not consider that we would break free? It is well within my abilities."

The Shaman's head tilted in his curiosity. He was fascinated to see the way that both prisoners seemed to fixate on the motion. "Yes, I did consider that," he admitted. "In fact, I thought you'd be long gone by now. So why are you still here?"

Somehow he'd already forgotten the depths of annoyance that Mordred had driven him into earlier in the night. For whatever reason he was finding that he enjoyed the man's company, perhaps because he never associated with other sorcerers. He was even enjoying Arthur's company, though the reason for this was even _less_ clear. Something about the man was just perpetually amusing.

"Why were you willing to let us go?" returned Mordred.

He shrugged. "You don't seem to be a threat."

"You're right on that account, at least," said Arthur, entering the conversation again. "We mean you no harm, nor the Hintagi people."

"Then what _are_ you doing here?" asked the Shaman. "After all, you _were_ trespassing on our land."

"We were looking for _YOU_!" yelled Arthur, his anxiety bursting forth. The Shaman's eyebrows pulled together and he gaped at the man. "And what do you mean '_our_' land? This is _not_ your land. _Camelot_ is your land, your _home_. At least it was until two weeks ago."

"You are both seriously mistaken about me. I've always lived here. I've been Shaman to the Hintagi people for… centuries. I'm, well… a bit older than I look," he added in a friendly, teasing manner. The jovial expression dropped from his face when he noticed the prisoners' reactions to his statement.

Both Mordred and Arthur reeled backwards, worry now written in every line on their faces.

"What have they done to you, Merlin?" whispered Mordred, wrapping his fingers around the bars and peering sadly into the Shaman's eyes. The Shaman's jaw clenched. How dare these two question him like this!

"I don't know _who_ or _what_ you're talking about, but I'm not Merlin," he snarled.

"Snap out of it!" demanded Arthur, coming up against the bars also, wrapping his hands around them with much more force. The Shaman actually jumped with surprise at the angry passion in the nobleman's face. "I don't know what they've done to you, but you've _got_ to fight it. I know _exactly_ who you are. Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Merlin, the man who built Albion at my side_. _Merlin, my dunce of a servant without whom I would have been dead a hundred times over."

The Shaman watched with increasingly wide eyes as the inflamed Arthur recited his list.

"_Merlin_, the best friend I have, who I will _not_ leave this village without, just as I know he would never leave me. Because that's what we do, Merlin. We look out for each other. I won't let them take you from me."

Having said his piece, Arthur yanked his hands away from the bars and marched into the corner of the cell, plopping himself loudly on the ground. He dropped his head against his knees, his hands clasped together on the back of his neck, refusing to look towards the Shaman any longer.

The Shaman was stunned to find that for the second time that day tears were tumbling down his cheeks. This was _absurd_! What was the _meaning_ of this? Frustrated, he wiped them away.

"Try to remember, Merlin, please," entreated Mordred quietly. The Shaman's eyes snapped to him. "Camelot, Gaius, Guinevere, Arthur, the knights… me. Your home. Surely you can see that we do not lie to you." The Shaman's eyes flicked about unhappily. For it was true. They seemed genuine with their words, and what were the odds of two men sharing the same madness? "You must think. What happened two weeks ago? How did they give you this new identity?"

"Two weeks ago, I…" He sucked in a breath. "I was their Shaman, as I've always been." Another teardrop fell.

"Merlin, _please_." The knight's calm façade was beginning to crack, the panic underneath becoming exposed. "I beg you. I… I…"

The Shaman shook his head, his throbbing, aching head. "I have to go," he announced. He spun on his heel.

"No!" Mordred cried behind him. He paid no heed. Instead he hurried his pace. "Merlin, wait, _please_!"

And then he was aboveground, the cries of the younger man lost to him. The Shaman set a brisk pace towards his tent, brushing away each new tear as it fell.

* * *

><p>All was quiet in the cell. Then,<p>

"I have an idea."

Mordred turned to Arthur. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined the words, but then Arthur turned to look at him. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"I was once under a spell," he recollected. "Nothing like this. I've got no idea what they've done to him. But… I know how Merlin woke me from mine."

"How?"

"True love's kiss."

The druid's eyes went wide, his jaw falling slightly open. "I… Apologies, what?"

"Guinevere. She kissed me and it broke the spell," the older man said, eyes intent upon Mordred. "So I'm wondering-"

"And what if it doesn't work, sire?" Mordred asked. "He could very well kill me for the assault."

"Not Merlin," was the immediate response. "Merlin wouldn't hurt you. You know that as well as I do. The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work. But it _might_."

Mordred shifted uncomfortably, looking past the bars to where Merlin had gone away. After a minute, he sighed and turned his gaze to Arthur. His blue eyes shined with worry.

"Shall I call him back? Or… wait until he returns in the morning?" A sudden panic overtook him. "He… he will return, won't he? We have not driven him away?" He grabbed at the king's arm for confirmation.

Arthur met his eyes steadily. "Knowing Merlin, he won't be able to withstand the curiosity that will draw him back to us."

Mordred's face melted with relief, and he smiled weakly. "Yes, of course," he said, forcing a chuckle. "I apologize, sire."

"It's fine, Mordred. I suppose we may as well get some sleep and wait for the morning."

Raising his eyebrows, he waited for Mordred to nod his assent before going to his corner of the cell. They both lay down on the hard ground, struggling to find sleep for many hours.


	7. The Paradise Syndrome 3

_Author's Note: Well here we are then. I'll probably write one last part to provide a conclusion to this story, but this chapter wraps it up in most ways. I hope this is a satisfactory end to the mystery! If I haven't explained it all well enough, please shoot me a message (or just say so in the review section). Many many thanks to my absolutely inspiring reviewers. Your kind words and requests for more are my primary motivators._

_Enjoy! Please review with your thoughts._

* * *

><p>Come mid-morning the next day, Merlin had yet to pay a visit. Mordred wrung his hands, the very picture of nervousness. He'd tried speaking telepathically to the other man, asking for his presence, but clearly to no avail.<p>

Arthur sighed. "He will _come_, Mordred," he assured not for the first time.

"Yes, milord," the knight agreed, consciously halting his fretful movements. "My apologies. I know you are right."

"I do wonder what is taking him so long," admitted Arthur. "I should have expected that-"

Sudden shrieks from aboveground halted Camelot's King midsentence. Arthur jumped to his feet, both he and Mordred turning in shock to the dirt tunnel beyond their cage that led up to the surface. The screams grew louder, the ringing voices of men, women, and children, and a loud noise, like an explosion, erupted in their eardrums.

"Mordred, get us out of here," Arthur commanded.

"Cover your ears, sire," warned Mordred. When the older man did so, Mordred opened his jaw and _screamed_.

The iron door burst from its hinges, crashing to the ground amidst a shower of sparks. It was soon trampled underfoot as Mordred and Arthur ran as quickly as their feet would carry them out of the cell, down the path, up the stairs, and-

Into a scene of horror. Half of the village was aflame, the tents burning, their beams of support crackling and crumbling. The Hintagi people fled—screaming and crying—from their homes, grabbing family members and getting clear of the catastrophe.

But Mordred could feel more than fearsome heat coming from the flames. He felt magic. "This fire is not natural!" he exclaimed to Arthur.

Then he spotted it. There in the middle of the village stood a lone figure, unafraid, unmoving. The bringer of death stood watching his act of vengeance, his golden eyes glowing in the light of the fires.

"_Merlin_!" the druid screeched.

The man's head snapped towards him, meeting his gaze directly.

Mordred sprinted to the warlock, closing the small distance between them in a matter of seconds. Panicked, he grabbed Merlin's arms, digging his nails in. The stone-cold sorcerer didn't flinch. The depth of righteous fury in his husband's eyes caused a shudder to ripple throughout Mordred's body.

"Merlin, you must stop this, please!" Mordred yelled. "We can fix this! Let me help, Merlin, please, stop."

The Shaman sneered. "You beg mercy on behalf of those who—who _did_ this to me?"

"I do," was the simple answer. Surprised by this response, the Shaman's hard features began to soften as he stared into Mordred's blue eyes, searching for something to satisfy his curiosity about the young man. "I beg for your mercy. Do not do this, Emrys."

His brow crinkled. "Emrys? Didn't you say my name was Merlin?"

Mordred gave a melancholy smile. Almost on instinct, his hand reached out to touch Merlin's cheek. Even more wide-eyed and flustered, the Shaman nevertheless did nothing to stop him, perhaps because his excited heart couldn't think of any protest.

"You are Merlin _and_ you are Emrys, and by both names do I love you."

Before the Shaman knew what was happening, Mordred leaned forward and gently pressed their chapped lips together.

When he blinked again, Merlin felt a teardrop fall from his lashes onto his cheek. The Dragonlord breathed deeply, taking in all the air his lungs could hold, as his eyes flashed back and forth between Mordred's, seeing them again now with new understanding. A watery smile pulled his lips upwards.

"Mordred," he whispered. Both hands going to Mordred's cheeks, finding solace through the feel of the druid knight, he touched their foreheads together. "Mordred. You found me."

"I always will." Full of relief, Mordred couldn't help the white smile that blossomed into being. He grabbed Merlin's hands, squeezing them for comfort.

"_Mordred_!"

Arthur's yell brought the knight back into reality. Again horrified, he glanced quickly round at the burning village before meeting Merlin's stare intently.

"Merlin," he insisted. "Help me stop this."

Now the warlock looked around himself, remembering what he, as the Shaman, had done. The image terrified him. He immediately leapt to action, using his magic to put out the fires he himself had created. Mordred joined him, and together they salvaged the remains of the Hintagi village.

* * *

><p>"They're all dead," Arthur declared solemnly, rising from the ground.<p>

The three men stood inside the ruins of the grandest tent, that which was used by the Council of Elders as their courtroom. All four of the Elders lay dead on the floor, having suffered severe burns and suffocating from the smoke as the tent burned down around them. Arthur stared at Merlin with a strange mixture of concern and censure, but Merlin could not meet his gaze.

"They are the only casualties?" Mordred checked.

The King nodded. "Everyone else got out safely. They're waiting within the cover of the trees to learn what will become of them."

Mordred turned to his husband. Gently he asked, "Why did you do this? Did you not still think yourself their Shaman?"

"Those were the memories I held up until the moment you kissed me, yes," Merlin said, voice like gravel. His blue eyes were fixated on the murders he had committed in his enraged state. "But I knew they weren't my memories."

"How did you know?"

Swallowing, Merlin finally met his gaze. "Your words woke something in me. Yours and Arthur's." He gave a brief, hesitant glance towards his best friend, who stood listening like judge and jury. "I knew it wasn't right. That two men couldn't share the same madness, that I was… well, what you said. That I was me. But I couldn't remember. So I decided to investigate."

The warlock breathed deeply. He pointed to a wooden trunk that lay among the tattered cloths and broken beams. Its only damage was mild charring. "I knew I needed to look in there. It belonged to the Elders and they always kept it locked, even from the Shaman, who is supposed to be the ruler of the Hintagi. I guessed that if I were to find answers, they would be in there.

"So this morning," he said, "I came to their tent, as I'd been summoned to do anyways. But instead of entering, I circled round, singing a melody to put them all to sleep."

This brought a queasy expression to Arthur's face, but Mordred ignored it, still listening to Merlin.

"Then I came in and broke into the trunk. That's where I found it." The anger and disgust returned to his countenance as he recalled his discovery. "They had written instructions for a spell, one to transfer memories from one living person to another. There were also records of their history. What I learned is that… that the Hintagi, being small as they are, have always relied upon a Shaman of great power for their protection. But as none of _them_ have magic, they must always find the new Shaman elsewhere, from outside their people. So whenever the Shaman is old and dying, they find and take a sorcerer from his home, his life, and then transfer memories from the dying Shaman to the new so that he becomes totally loyal to the Hintagi. And they all go on living, pretending that they haven't just stolen a man's life."

The Dragonlord's eyes welled with tears. "I didn't think, I just…" His jaw moved helplessly. "…reacted. It was like my vision turned red, my body wreathed in fire, I… I can't believe I…"

Falling to his knees, Merlin's cries shook his whole body. Mordred dropped down beside him, wrapping a tight arm around his back, leaning his head lovingly against Merlin's shoulder. Mouth set in a grim line, even Arthur walked over and rested his hand supportively on Merlin's other shoulder.

"I thought…" Merlin forced out between sobs. "I would never… regain my real memories. That I would… always be… what they'd made me. I was filled with such… _hate_ and _anger_…" The tears overtook him again, making speech impossible.

The space was quiet but for the sound of Merlin's sobs as Mordred held him, rocking him gently, and Arthur stood silently above them.

"We must speak with the Hintagi people," Arthur murmured to Mordred, trying not to disturb his friend still in distress. "They don't know what's happening."

"I am uncertain if I wish to help them or imprison them," growled the young man.

"We will _help_ them," was Arthur's definitive answer. "I know perhaps better than anyone that adhering to evil traditions does not necessarily make a person evil. I can explain to them the wrong they've done. If I offer them a place in Camelot's kingdom, where they will be protected from any outside harm, they may be willing to change their ways. This never need happen again."

Mordred sighed, then smiled. "Albion is blessed to have such a wise ruler," he said. Arthur returned the smile, nodding his head in thanks. "I will stay here with Merlin," Mordred continued. "He needs rest after this ordeal. But go. Speak with them. We will be with you soon."


	8. Call to Arms! (Author Announcement)

_A/N: Hello hello hello, all you lovely people!_

_Wow. It feels surreal to be back here, posting on this story! Sad to say, the update is not of a fictional nature. But rather, of a nonfictional one. A request from me, humble author, to you, loyal readers._

_I am writing to tell you that I've posted this story on Inkitt as part of a Fanfiction novel contest. For any and all of you who remember this story and perhaps loved it once upon a time, it would mean SO much to me if you would head over there and give me votes on this story. The contest began today and goes through October 21st, but the sooner you vote, the more likely others on the site will see and read my story, since it will be higher on the "Most Voted" page._

_Here is the link: inkitt (d o t) (c o m)__(slash)stories(slash)24606. Or you can simply go to the Inkitt website, then to their Fandom - Fanfiction writing contest, and search for the title of this story, "The Love That Binds Us". Then, at the bottom of the page, you ought to be able to hit a little heart that means you "recommend" the story to others. I believe that you can vote using Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook, or by creating your own account on Inkitt._

_So there it is! Any help ya'll can give me will be greatly appreciated :) And hey, while you're there, might as well check out my original short story called "A Reaper's Folly"! ;) (shameless plug for myself)_

_Seriously though. All that aside, I just want to say that the two years I spent writing this story were absolutely fantastic. I'll never forget how lucky I felt to have such a wonderful readership. So thank you for giving that to me. I hope you're all doing well! Feel free to message me anytime if you like, I'm always around and happy to chat :)_


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